


A Tale of Two Swords

by magicflowr



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Childhood, Competition, Gen, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Kendo, Short, Tournaments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 12:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14212788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicflowr/pseuds/magicflowr
Summary: Her destiny shifts around his. When Kuzuryuu is summoned to Hope's Peak, she must be too. Or she's out on the streets.A character study on why Peko entered into competitive Kendo - may be updated with more character studies in the future.





	A Tale of Two Swords

Peko starts to compete very late in the game.

This isn’t to say she’s inexperienced. It would be a great challenge, in fact, to find a person more familiar with the sword than Peko Pekoyama.

Competition has never been her goal. Many that practice Kendo will spend a lifetime training with that goal in mind – the success she’s had at these tournaments is the equivalent of a human’s life dream, but she’s not… that’s never been her goal. It’s not an accomplishment, hell, it’s not even a stepping stone.

It’s a cover.

Nothing is done without strict instruction. It never seemed necessary to compete – it takes precious time away from her job – so she never did. A need arose the year before she entered high school. More accurately, need arose when the year before Kuzuryuu entered high school. The Kuzuryuu’s wanted their heir to attend Hope’s Peak Academy, so a meticulous plan was drawn up for his success.

Her destiny shifted around his. Hope’s Peak has enough power to deflect their threats, and she isn’t worth the amount of money it would cost to bribe them. She was ordered to begin competing. She’d been called to the head’s room and given strict instructions and a sensei that specialized in competition.

If her name is on the map, the scouts will recognize her, and she’ll be allowed admittance alongside her master. There were darker tones to his words, and she understood: ‘ _If you aren’t admitted, you’re out on the streets’._

Why would they keep a tool without its master?

She’d take _his_ opposition above his parent’s insistence, but he never said a word. A quick “ _Congrats, Pek’”_ when she came back victorious, then she’d return to his side. She was sure he resented her more when she abandoned him to train, he’d always speak more gruffly upon her return.

But he never objected.

Thus, her competitive career began.

By the time she started to compete, she’d been out of the hands of her first teacher for years – but his words make up everything she is. To call his lessons _Kendo_ would be like calling shattered glass sand. He gave Peko her life. He brought her to the clan. They took in a child with the intention of raising the perfect hitwoman, but he was the man to put the sword in her hands. A hitwoman that can kill with just a bamboo sword, he said, is a cheap – but _valuable_ – asset.

As a child, she often wondered whether he knew her parents. Seeing the Kuzuryuu family interact, seeing (even as a child) how differently she was treated to their biological heirs, she’d wondered whether she could meet people who would treat her like that.

So, she made the logical connection, and she asked. This was her first lesson. To disregard any thought that didn’t serve the clan.

Her second lesson was to learn the power of the sword.

Her life under his watch was a disciplined series of lessons. Easy and difficult have no meaning on this path, _difficult_ implies the possibility of an easier route. It _couldn’t_ be difficult, but it was _intense._ He taught her discipline above else He taught her how to intimidate, how to send a threat. He taught her to use her brain. He taught her how to incapacitate any man, how to torture him while keeping him alive. How to kill.

One of his more unique philosophies was his vitriol for the tournament scene. He was passionate about traditional swordsmanship, the kind that samurais would use to fight wars. What stuck out was the distinction he’d make between competitive Kendo and the lifestyle she was being taught.

_“A sword should be understood. If you strike without clear intent, the sword loses its purpose. Know your intent.”_

To wield a sword the way she does is to have power. To understand the sword the way she does is to have perfect clarity of mind. It’s an extension of her body – no, it’s a deadly partner. Tools together. Swordsmanship can be compared to dancing, he said. _The blade is your partner. You must be equal to that - your body must become a second sword._

Competition felt like culture shock. Her new sensei taught a directly oppositional mantra:

_“A sword should be revered – you should never strike with the intent to harm.”_

It didn’t come as a surprise, with the divide so clear in her mind. But her first tournament gave way to some unseemly feelings. She _felt something_ _new_ for the first time in her carefully-practiced years.

Her stomach turned sour. She felt tears in her eyes for a moment, then bile in her throat. _Why?_

Something chipped away at her defenses. It grew more difficult when she realized that these people don’t wield a sword until they put on specific clothes, they lay the sword down when they take them off. They wear a mask, they get to remove the mask. The crowd is scattered with friends and family there to _support_ , but what Peko does could never warrant support. She could never expect it. They’re athletes, not tools. _Just as her sensei promised._

It was close to unbearable watching the other competitors perform. The artistry was practiced and wonderful, nonetheless, the bile rose.

She underperformed at this tournament, this first victory felt far more hollow than the rest to come. A normal person would be feeling joy, a normal _tool_ would be feeling _nothing_ – so why did she feel so lost? _I won, my job was to win._

Sparring against the other finalist was no difficult task. Her only experience had been sparring with her new sensei – a far more formidable opponent – so she was able to complete her task on autopilot.

She conducted post-tournament interviews without being mentally present – jostled between Kendo fanatics and journalists that wanted to know everything she couldn’t tell them:

‘ _How does it feel to win?’_

_Couldn’t tell you._

_‘Why haven’t we seen you before?’_

_Because I did my job right._

_‘Your family must be so proud!’_

_I guess you know more than me._

But these thoughts do not serve the clan, so she disregards them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a precursor to a story fic that should be up soon! (spoilers, its gay and I love it). I also wanted to step outside my comfort zone a little, I feel like I use Fuyuhiko to tell Peko's stories too often because I can characterize him a lot more naturally than I can her. So I had to tell a story that couldn't possibly be told through his eyes.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this! <3
> 
>  
> 
> ~~([while you were out partying, I studied the blade](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DZtxCVAWsAASx49.jpg:large))~~


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